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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28519683">Flowers Follow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikethemechanic/pseuds/mikethemechanic'>mikethemechanic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>5 Seconds of Summer (Band), Radiohead (Band), Youngblood - 5 Seconds Of Summer (Album)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Band Fic, Depression, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Gay, Gratuitous Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:15:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28519683</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikethemechanic/pseuds/mikethemechanic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The human mind is truly the scariest thing of all. Past pain and nightmares swirl through your thoughts along with happiness you want but can never truly find. It's the only way to understand a person. To find the deepest secrets, and that is where our journey begins. Of course, after all, the best moments are the ones you cannot tell anyone about.</p><p>Starring, my two favorite tropes, SECRET DATING and FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS... enjoy :)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Calum Hood/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Flowers Follow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm feeling sick and miserable, but I have a tablet with a bedstand, a wireless keyboard, and I'm going to make that everyones problem.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In this moment, he was ethereal.</p><p>The brown eyed boy laid next to her. Everything was soundless, except for the shallow noises of his breathing, chest falling in unison with his fluttering eyelids. So peaceful, so full of bliss and unaware of the person in whom admired him so. She often wondered what that boy thought about. The daydreams are frequent and he tells her everything, but only assumptions can be made in the place of his truth. People do have their assumptions, as of everything, yet the chaos was never correct.</p><p>Somewhere beneath the creative outpourings of that boy resides the kitchen table, always content to stay quietly beneath, yet at times be revealed upon the random cleanings that come as welcome storms. He always said the bed was his safe place, his haven. He'd snuggle into the duvet as happy as a cat in the sunlight, ready for his starry dreams. He'd fall asleep in good time, either slowly or fast, never without a partner. For now, all Mars could do was hope whatever went on in there, was pleasant and soundless as he snored.</p><p>The blanket is thin and the night is cold. As she wraps it around her shoulders, she knows it is better than nothing but it fails to reach her toes, which sit like ice-blocks on the parquet floor. She can't sleep tonight. Looking down, she realized the blanket was all she had left, the sheets had been scrambled across the floor once again. In their whiteness were as a fresh page awaiting ink, looking so comfortable yet so, so far away. </p><p>In that dark room there were shapes in monochrome, of course the daylight could bring brilliant fuchsia or deepest scarlet, but for now it could be a scene from a black and white movie. The silhouettes were already more discernible than they were only a short while before and she gazed from the window; any moment the sun would kiss the sky orange, igniting a new dawn, bringing the chorus of the birds, but for now, she didn't dare move. She was too cold.</p><p>When another bite of winter seeps through the cracked windows, Calum moves his hand under her night dress and towards her middle, sharing the warmth as easily as he shared his heart. Shifting her body under his was easy, but moving her hands under the soft curls of his hair without waking him was much harder than one would assume. She loved to touch him - never in a sexual way, never anywhere other than his face, his hands, his obsidian hair that fell in tousled locks. His warmth would seep into her being and he comforted her without ever opening his mouth. Marianne would melt into him like ice-cream on a warm porcelain bowl, like she belonged next to him, like he belonged next to her; and each time before they parted, the aching to be in his arms would begin anew.</p><p>France was known for being cold in the winter. Without sunlight, the place was simply hopeless. Nevertheless, it was beautiful, especially to her. After all those years of living in England, this place seemed absolutely extraordinary, ethereal as it just may exist. Tomorrow, maybe, the promise of spring will blossom as flowers do, yet today the wind blows cold. The last serenade winter's song.Upon the grass there is snow, much like sprinkled sugar over cake. The frigid air has a way of keeping them in the moment, wicking away body heat faster than it is replaced. It was no secret today would be one of those days when normal clothes aren't enough, when they feel thinner than they are and the bulk of warmth may no longer provide as it should.</p><p>&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;</p><p>It hadn't taken her long to realize the brown eyed boy accompanying her was not enough to resist the grating of winter and as much as she had hoped, she may not spend much longer In this bed alone with only him.</p><p>The balcony there was a concrete ledge, square rough edges and a rusty rail, but in that moment it was her oasis. The hotel workers had filled whatever space the table for one did not occupy with potted plants and in the spring and summer seasons, she was told, was a riot of color. On her balcony she could enjoy the early morning breeze, the sun and even sometimes sit out in misty rain, no matter how cold. Below the city flowed in it's tense way, bustling and honking. But ten floors up she seemed far enough removed from it to be a passive observer, not troubled by its strife. She'd always been fond of balconies.</p><p>She felt that if she could only manage to stand on one long enough, the right one, wearing a long white trailing gown, preferably during the first quarter of the moon, something would happen: music would sound, a shape would appear below, sinuous and dark, and climb towards her, while she leaned fearfully, hopefully, gracefully, against the wrought-iron railing and quivered. But this wasn't a very romantic balcony. She stepped outside, toes flinching as they touched the chilled ceramic floor. She was no longer naked, taking her time wrapping the tattered bathrobe around her shivered body as she glided. It wouldn't be such a shame though, people seeing her naked; after all, men payed for that.</p><p>The sunlight had come quickly that morning, as if it had missed the sky and wanted nothing more than to warm up those blues to a radiant gold. Just another person wanting warmth, she assumed. Looking back, she watched as Calum stammered over the laundry and tossed sheets from the exiting nights before, his only heat shield being a pair of boxers, ones accompanied by stretched fabric and many, many holes.</p><p>She hadn't wanted him to wake, and yet, he brought something so important to that balcony ledge. Something that must not be named.</p><p>He walked up to her slowly and pulled her closer to him wrapping his arms around her. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around her frail body. His forearms were streaked with green veins that sat comfortably on his silky, almond skin. The beauty spots that speckled them jumped at her when he clenched, tugging her even closer, the veins pulsating with concentration. The world around her seemed to melt away as she squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end.</p><p>He speaks with a softer voice than one who has just awaken, yet the gravel that aligns his throat says differently. "It's early," he says, "you're not supposed to be awake yet," his lips alight on her cheek then, like a dew freckled petal caught in a breeze, so soft and with the smallest hint of coolness. "Come back to bed, please."</p><p>He took her small calloused hands, dragging her through what was once a clean and kept hotel ad by no means, she follows with ease. His eyes still adjusted towards the shy sunlight; causing him to move cautiously while maneuvering the generous amounts of pillows and the chairs drenched in used jackets and unnecessary clothes. There’s a finger felt as she lays down again. Two. They faux sashay in tandem up her leg from her ankle as if they were two legs of their own, and they splay into a palm to grip onto her thigh mid-journey. She returns the advance with a small smile, leaving the sky in which her attention was previously occupied with alone. She grabs his neck as if to feel his pulse and in that moment she does, his heart racing and hers just the same.</p><p>She would have continued, she would have loved to see where this was going and what might come of it but she hears footsteps down the hallways and in seconds someone is at the door, knocking ever so loudly. The noise came quietly at first and then there was silence. Someone was desperate for Calum's attention, but at just the wrong times. There is a kind of fast movement that is precise and well thought through that rose from the panic in both their eyes. Not the impulsive and random swipes of the cornered, yet more with the calculation of a chess player as she huddled behind the whitewashed bathroom door. Silence washed her system once more. She listened intently as the door opened, creaking, for it couldn't be quiet unless politely asked. She recognized the voices quickly enough to know this was bad, the situation, she meant.</p><p>The others weren't supposed to find out and, by now, all she could do was hope no one needed the washroom.</p><p>Today she was unlucky. The footsteps approaching were not Calum's, they weren't heavy and slow, they were quick and stammered as the boy crept closer, and closer, and closer. Her heart rate was elevated to serious extents, and if she hadn't been holding her breath, she'd be traveling towards the nearest hospital. "Wait!" she could see him through the crack and, thanks to the bad carpentry, the gap was just narrow enough for him to ignore her existence, not see the girl who cowardly hid behind a bathroom door. The only thing he noticed was Calum's sudden volume adjustment, making everyone, even Ashton, freeze. "I had gotten a call from Luke earlier, he said it was urgent," his fingers twirled around each other and, just like that was not enough, he continued, "we should go."</p><p>As the blond boy moved, his hair twirled. On his head sat a mop of blond strands and beneath stammered eyelids were confused blue eyes. She felt bad, lying to him, but before anyone could condone further apologies, Calum took his hand and scrambled out of the room, pants seeping off his waste as he searched for the nearest belt. With that, came the slightest momentum of deja vu, something she was ashamed to relate to and as he closed the door behind him, Calum looked back one last time and winked. Exiting out to his own doom, she couldn't help but feel flattered that he had done so much for her, yet again, It was almost frightening.</p><p>For now, however, they hadn't been caught. <em>Thank God</em>.</p><p>&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;</p><p>The rain was full of ghosts that night.</p><p>During that endless night, a sound as if thunder could be stretched. Mars tilts her head upward, seeking lights that flash, the red and white in the deepest of blue skies. For a moment she stays still, feeling the cool air, breathing in a steady rhythm. Then there they are, those crazy passing stars, flying high, ever onward. From the window of the plane the wing engine is semi illuminated, the lower half shining around the rim, the upper half several shades darker. As the plane dips the line between shadow and light moves, and all the while she just listens to the hum of the rotors. The jet lag soon to be caused would be the kind of fatigue that required matchsticks for the eyes; something Mars was never looking forward to.</p><p>The silver melody of the drawl of sightseers and the strong, distinct accents of the locals drifted through her ears as they ambled past, feet scanning the dirty grey carpet and fingers puncturing the plastic walls. She looked out the window again, fragments of cloud still scattering the ocean. Mars was drifting into consciousness. And then back out. The world was a blur, random images seemed to float aimlessly around in the pool of her thoughts, as though they were being blown about, viciously by a hurricane.</p><p>A tap on her shoulder momentarily brought her back to the outside world, but after a second she was once again lost. She could feel somebody trying to look at her, brown eyes staring for what seemed like hours, but she couldn't keep focus. The whole world simply felt low resolution, a bad quality movie. Confusion blossomed in her heart and she knew that sooner or later she would need to wake up. To stare reality in the face. But for now she lays down her heavy head, and retreated into wallowing blackness and someones soft, soft shoulder. Finnaly asleep.</p><p>Only hours later her head jolts upward, letting her know she has slept for a little too long. Her eyes grow wide, taking on a wild look as she scans for new signs of danger. Nothings there. With each passing moment a trolly strolls down and back through each blue colored aisle, broken wheels whining as their pushed. Other than that the plane has gone quiet and beside her, someone stirs. She carefully rolled onto her side and looks at him. Calum. His features were much softer in sleep, the lines that usually creased his brow replaced by the youthful appearance that matched those of others their age. She has seen this state many times before, scanned him just this morning but nothing can stop the feeling of utter satisfaction that her lover provides. He looked peaceful.</p><p>Wanting nothing more than to curl up into the curve of his body, she turned around and pulled his thin hoodie up over her shoulder. His body so warm, in the end, the cold temperatures are made up for. Soon, she's up again. So is he. They look at each other before he kisses her forehead and she hopes no one sees. She hopes no one takes a glance at the man speaking in the background, but his kiss was so subtle that not even she could see his smile. "Go back to sleep," he says. "The softness looks beautiful on you."</p><p>The airplane lands upon the brightly lit tarmac at midnight, wheels kissing the earth with a small and joyous bounce. Mars wakes suddenly, every thought in high definition. Her eyes take in every ray of light and without a doubt she knows It's time to leave. The noises are of a day in full swing, traffic heavy. Her heart is pounding, mind empty. It's as if a hypodermic of adrenaline has been emptied into her fictional mind, that fictional world only the unconscious can fully observe. She strains into the utter brightness, breathing rate beginning to steady. One click of the mistresses's hands and Calum's eyes are open. In the sheer volume he moves slowly enough to make no sound, fast enough to catch Mars' weight. She doesn't fall, but she doesn't stand either. His comforting hand held her back, delaying her legs from collapsing under her. 

</p><p>Her knees did not reach the floor before he had lifted her into his arms, carrying her out the main door and into the airport.</p><p>She's able to center herself on his back, it's easier for him that way. Before, he had swung her up in his strong arms as if she was nothing more than a rag doll. Yet, Mars still felt the need to move, no matter how many times he had insisted. She was still cold and from a young age she was taught that moving, movement in general would keep away her shivers, would not let her mind rest and help it return to work. Those people have lied, Mars is still cold. At this early hour the airport is as serene as it ever is, the body heat of her peers are no match for its power. The people move with ease, quiet rivers of humanity freshly roused from their slumber. The floors are clean and white, reflecting the early rays and the manmade light all the same.</p><p>She likes it, the quietness. But what she really enjoyed was the time she spent with him, so close to the nape of his neck and the smell of his hair coiling behind both his and her ears. They made Mars think of pipe cleaners, long and soft and seeping around her dead weight for only her own comfort. She likes them and they better not leave. He better not cut them. From now on, she won't allow it.</p><p>The airport market from old to young is a gorgeous cacophony of smiles, people are here to see family members and come home, but while they were together, Mars was no where near her home, her parents and childhood friends. She felt out of place, even clinging on to Calum. Each person in the crowd moves as if unseeing hands drag them this way and that, pulling their eyes to one thing and then another. They respond in predictable ways, each of them with a goal to achieve for the day. It was so easy to be lost, she was glad to have a high resting place, like an eagle protecting her own nest, a nest of hair but still very well a nest.</p><p>She realized, later on, she was still wearing his sweater and she was still cold, but she struggled to get it off. She struggled and then returned it to its rightful owner, one of which did not take returns nor receipts, so now she is stuck clinging on his back, sweater in hand and heart on her sleeve. By now, she didn't just see everything now, she felt everything from up there too. The way his feet fell as he roamed and the way his hair curled when wrapped around her finger. Occasionally he would stop himself, talk to people, fans. But for now, Calum was all hers.</p><p>&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;</p><p>Order is not born of forced order, yet of the art of increasing positive chaos to neutralize the negative chaos.</p><p>She repeats this to herself; these same words over and over because there is still some part of her that believes this is true. Some part of her believes that the positive chaos in which does not exist is just hiding and the unfortunate events that led her crying in the club is of no malice, just misfortune. That the lights are just too bright and the noise is of disturbance. That she is not alone because Calum has forgotten about her, not because anyone has forgotten about her, but because she is of free will, and chooses this by herself.</p><p>By now her thirst has risen from a quiet background song to dance-rave loud. It was as if being thirsty had gone from the slush pile of her to-do list to the number one item in flashing neon light. Everything was in flashing neon light, actually. The only thing she could do was leave, exiting through the nearest back door to catch her breathe, to remember she is breathing and not dying. She needed a break, taking the shiny grey flask from the back of her purse, the ice falling against the metal, her fingers sliding on the condensation before they regain their grip. Better. She is better now.</p><p>The gloom hugs her skin as a protective brother, always bringing a sense of stoic calmness. Until the light returns, she sits on the back steps not ever noticing the mud covered patches and ants that now wind up her legs. Her left hand remains with the flask, cigarette in hand. The other is free to lean on, provide a seating comfort, much like a barrier or a support beam as she stares down the dim lit alley way. It had been the Festival of Lights only a week ago.</p><p>Along the usually dark wintry lane shone hundreds of foreign lamps; most still illuminating with their flickering candles. The light was cast every color by the tinted panes and Mars couldn't help but be reminded of candy. It was as if the lane was iced by the baker on the high-street, and even better than the cake she had last birthday. Everywhere there would be folks in their winter garb, thick woolen jackets, mitts and scarfs. To add to the gaiety most children carried a lamp of their own making, their gentle puffs of steaming breath made visible by the glow, only to disappear into the inkiness. At the stroke of eight on the old town clock would come the first wave of songs, songs of thanks to echo into the homes of even the curmudgeons. Everyone came together but by the next day the crowd would disperse as if nothing had happened. </p><p>Usually the windows of the hospital would be open despite the cold, the doctors believed the multitude of voices from young and old alike to have a stronger effect on their patients than any medicine they had to offer. Mars believed they were more correct than most, but did not utter a word in order to be taken so seriously. The raccoons seemed to be the only ones left of the old town as everyone has either left or crowded over the stadiums to see her friends, watch them preform like stage monkeys. Soon a sound as if hissing fills the night sky and she watches as a man about her age walks across the stone covered floor only to pass-out beside her. Gross.</p><p>One of these raccoons decide to approach her later on, to say hello maybe. The raccoon is all instinct out there in the twilight, she knows this. They take in the sweet fresh air ever ready to return to safety, but this one seems different. This one seems curious. His silver hair reflects boldly of the moonlight and the wiry locks of both his fur and whiskers are quite bold. His paws are covered in trash most likely from his feeding den and he smells of many different things, all of which are horrid. Mars keeps her nose plugged but does not feign from the animal, not at all.</p><p>"Hello dear," she coos and with her softest hand she allows this raccoon to smell her lovely scent, one of which the raccoon accepts, softly placing its wet black beaded nose on her skin and dragging it about. "Kisses? Why thank you." And once the kindness of the stranger provides a trust barrier, the animal goes in for its attack, taking its sharp claws and dragging them through her skin and leaving three inseparable white lines, soon coated with her scarlet blood.</p>
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